


Looking Glass

by poptartypops



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-03
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 01:19:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poptartypops/pseuds/poptartypops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of DA2 drabbles.<br/>There are so many things Fenris wishes to change - and so little he could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kill What You Love

**Author's Note:**

> Written as plotless ideas strike :)

There was no way to hide the torn expression that flickered across Hawke’s face every time they were faced with a problem concerning mages.  Fenris didn’t understand why, but he would always look towards Hawke before voicing out his own opinion.  And always, without fail, Hawke’s eyes would flicker towards Fenris before he gave an answer.  Sometimes their gazes would meet, but most of the time Fenris would only catch Hawke as he turned his gaze away - his expression almost apologetic.  

_“We will help you.”_

The number of times Fenris has heard those words escape Hawke’s lips have managed to dull the disappointment (but not the anger) that nagged in his chest.  There was always a small hope inside of him that Hawke - who was so impossible kind, so impossibly righteous - would stop trying to save every single soul bound to hell.  But at the same time, there was a small voice that heeded him to be wary against the mage.  Fenris wanted to ignore it, the mage did nothing but kindness to him.  But Fenris didn’t have the luxury to trust so easily; not when his gut practically screamed to swing his sword at anything that so hinted at magic. 

Deep inside he thought that maybe if he did away with magic, a part of his innocent self would return. 

Then he could return to an imagined peaceful life.

Fenris wished he could.  No matter how futile he told himself that would be, he wished and wished and _wished_ - 

But that also meant Hawke wouldn’t exist.

There was something so terribly dark about that thought.  As if the air would grow stale, the leaves wilt and the sky turn dark forever.  The constant turmoil brought on by these thoughts often made him irritable.  No, one could say that apart from the constant vigilance for any sign of Danarius, only Hawke wrought so much chaos in his mind.  

If only there was a way to bleed Hawke of all his magic.

That would be most satisfying.  

Then maybe, just maybe, Fenris would be able to feel what freedom truly meant.


	2. Compounding Interest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title is in relation to a bank debt, and this was written while listening to A Fine Frenzy -.-  
> Still set somewhere in Act II - rather dark drabble again. Really sleepy while writing this but the idea wouldn't let go of me.

It started with words Fenris never meant for Hawke to hear.  Words he knew the mage would take the wrong way, words he knew Hawke would not be ready to accept. 

But he said them anyway - as a culmination to the unresolved tension that ate away their sanity.  It insistently gnawed at them, demanding for release - _any release_.  And so the words spilled out of Fenris' lips before he had time to reconsider them _again_.  The flash of hate that burned Hawke's eyes was almost unmistakable, except that Fenris wasn't stupid enough to ignore the hurt the hate was meant to conceal. 

And now Fenris was pinned against the wall, breathing hard from being slammed against the hard stone.  

“Unless you have any intention of sleeping with me, I suggest you leave now,” Hawke voice was low, guttural as he whispered the words against Fenris’ ears.  Hawke’s grip on his wrist tightened but he kept their bodies apart.  Fenris struggled to drag air into his lungs.  His whole body burned – his eyes felt hot, his head swimming in fog, the lyrium under his skin coming alive in protest to his helplessness.  He felt stripped – _naked_ – despite the metal armor that clung to his body.  The awareness of his vulnerability shamed him, and it twisted deep in his belly – and he hated –

 – _hated how trapped_

_– hated how he could deny this man nothing._

Maker, how he _hated_.

“Too slow,” Hawke snapped after a moment, his free hand roughly clutching Fenris’ nape as he crushed their mouths together.  It was nothing a kiss should be; their teeth painfully collided, digging into each other’s lips, cutting into the chapped surfaces.  Hawke’s fingers dug into whatever skin Fenris’ armor exposed, marking the side of Fenris’ neck and the inside of his wrist with the shape of his fingertips.  He pushed his knee between Fenris’ legs and kneaded it against the growing hardness there. 

Mortification burned Fenris’ face, but he couldn’t stop the moan from escaping his lips as Hawke moved to bite his neck.  The mage deftly removed the buckles of his armor and carelessly dropped them to the floor.  Fenris buried his fingers into Hawke’s hair, too caught up in the spiral of lust to care any further. 

_If only as an excuse to spend another night with Hawke._

_… how low he’s become._

 "Why aren't you fighting?" Hawke demanded, his hand reached down to rub against Fenris' groin.  

Fenris moaned instead of answering, refusing to acknowledge the question.  He ground his hips agaisnt the large hand, his pleasure spiking fast from all the nights his body has been denied of release. 

"Are you really so bent on _paying_ me this debt of yours?"

Fenris never realized how vindictive Hawke could be.  But he refused to listen to reason now - not when his body was about to crash into an orgasm he has craved for months.  "Shut up," he pulled back at Hawke's hair, and shoved Hawke's robes down his shoulders with his free hand.  He sucked enthusiatically on the pale skin, drinking in the heady moans that escaped Hawke's lips as the hand against his shaft grew insistent.  Fenris pressed his hips more fully against the large hand, his body moving without rhythm in desperation and he bit hard on Hawke's shoulder - drawing blood - as he came against the confines of his leggings. 

The sharp pain seemed to have pulled Hawke out of his anger, and he yelped in surprise.  He stared, wide-eyed at Fenris as he stumbled back a step, hands releasing Fenris as if he burned.  Tiny rivulets of blood dribbled down Hawke's shoulder, and it took a moment more for the gravity of situation to register on Hawke's mind, and Fenris watched him –with eyes still hazy with lust – as Hawke bit into his lip, drawing more blood.  

 _Ah… regret._  

There was an odd satisfaction in recognizing the emotion that flashed across the mage’s face.  Fenris leaned back against the cold wall in attempt to catch his breath.  He watched as Hawke’s chest heaved heavily, and Fenris knew that emotions that battled inside him.  The mage made quite a sight, with red marks all his neck that would surely bruise, reflecting exactly what he's done with Fenris' own.          

But the image that reflected in Hawke's eyes were not one that resulted in the heat of passion - _violent_ \- but lust and desire all the same.  Hawke’s jaw worked and his voice was strained as he said, “ _Fenris_ , I -”

Fenris closed his eyes, savoring the way his name rolled off Hawke’s lips.  He swallowed and opened his eyes again, waiting for the words he knew would come next.

“ _I’m sorry_.”   

Fenris realized that he has never heard any other words that wrought him this much pain in life.  He took a deep breath, wondering where all his pent-up anger has disappeared to.  Now, when angry words would have been familiar – would have been the way to fix things – he could do nothing but nod tersely at the mage. 

And then Hawke stormed away, not even bothering to straighten his robes as he ran out of his own room and out of his own house. 

Fenris released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and slumped to the ground.  He heard the clap of thunder outside and distantly wondered when Hawke will return.  I should leave, he thought to himself, but he made no move to stand from his spot against the wall.  He took comfort in the warmth of Hawke room, in the too familiar scent of sandalwood and herbs.  He took comfort in the knowledge that Hawke will always return here –

_“- because this is the only place I have memories of everyone I hold dear.”_

And Fenris was part of that.  The certainty of thought was oddly comforting despite everything that has led to the culmination of today's events.  And it affirmed to him, that he _was_ right.  There was nothing but truth in the words he said that angered Hawke.

Fenris' debt to him was one he’ll never be able to pay.   

 


End file.
